Word is Medicine

Poetry is more
than mere words.

It carries in it
a part of the soul,

of the poet
and the muse,

echoeing through time,
rippling across dimensions.

Not just passing through
but creating,
changing,
leaving a mark.

Visible only
to a handful
of dreamers,
those couragous beings,

who despite their fears,
leave the door unlocked,
keep the flowers watered,
and the table set.

So when she arrives,
after a hug and a kiss,
she can tell stories that
create worlds, as they are told.

The imagination soars high,
grabs a piece of the sun,
lets fall with impeccable grace,
and feeds the forest with its life.

And hearts are healed
because,
my friend,
word is medicine.